Page 82 of Rosie and the Beast Next Door

I met Dylan’s gaze, and he took my hand and pulled me into a bedroom before they could hear us laugh.

“Your dad is going to kick us out,” I said.

“Because of Lizzy?” Dylan closed the door and leaned against it. “Or because of me?”

I sat on the side of the bed and crossed my ankles. If Lily’s room had once had personality, it had all been painted clean with gray walls, white trim, and a silver standing lamp. The only spot of color in the room was the gorgeous sea-colored quilt across the bed. “Want to talk about it?”

He sat beside me, the firm line of his thigh pressed to mine, and his forearms flexed as he leaned back on his hands. He sighed. “My dad and I have never really gotten along, and it became especially difficult when I was a teenager. Looking back, I can see how much they sacrificed for me to play hockey, but at the time…”

He paused, and I remained quiet, hoping he’d keep talking. Dylan was still a mystery to me in some ways—a mystery I was intrigued by more and more.

“My senior year of high school was the worst. I was ready to be gone. I’d already gotten into Michigan State, and my dad and I were fighting nonstop. My dad was up for reelection for Sheriff, which meant our family was under the microscope. I was wrestling with the public display of how happy we all were as a family while Dad and I were in a cold war behind closed doors.” His voice was quiet, and I scooted close enough for our arms to touch. He moved his arm to behind me so I could lean against his shoulder.

“Right before the election, I got all my friends to break into that huge summer mansion on the hill. You know it?”

I nodded. It was owned by the Kellers, one of the richest summer families in Winterhaven. They usually stayed a week or two in the summer, and kept to themselves, but they were the staggering kind of rich.

“We had a wild party. Trashed their house. Broke things. Dad was called, and we were all brought into the station. Dad ended up losing the election, and my family blamed me. If he couldn’t keep his own kid in line, how was he supposed to help the town?”

I sucked in a breath through my teeth at his matter-of-fact tone. “You were a kid.”

“I was almost an adult. I knew better, but thought I was invincible.” The muscles in his arm tightened behind my back.

“Things only got tenser between me and Dad, especially since they had to pay for the bulk of the damages. It all finally exploded the night before I was set to leave for college. We were heated and both went too far, and in the end, I stormed off. That was the last I saw them until that night in Icy Asps.”

“You haven’t talked it through?”

He let out a humorless laugh. “Have you met my dad? He’s not one to sit down and share feelings. Besides, it’s clear they’ve never forgiven me. The entire town hasn’t forgiven me.”

I’d never heard his parents say anything but good things about Dylan. They never missed a game. But I also didn’t want to discount his experiences with his family. There had to be some middle ground.

“Then Shiloh died, and I didn’t come home for the funeral. Confirming to everyone, once again, that I’m a screw-up.”

He’d taken too much of a burden on his shoulders—the pressure to perform, to be the best, to not make any mistakes on the ice, to always improve at the cost of all his relationships,to turn back time and live without feelings—it was weighing him down to a suffocating degree.

“You don’t have to be perfect to have value.” I pressed my shoulder to his. “Or to be loved. Do you believe that?”

“For everyone else,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

I nudged his shoulder again.

“I’m trying to believe it,” he said. “I am glad to be here. Nothere, at my parents’ house, but here in Winterhaven, and that’s an improvement.”

“What changed?”

“Twice-weekly therapy sessions,” he deadpanned, but then continued. “Talking to Hudson about Shiloh. Seeing Winterhaven through your eyes. Rediscovering my love of playing a game. Meeting you.”

I felt him looking at me, but I stared straight ahead. What would happen if I turned toward him? Would we kiss again? Something had changed between us last night, something scary and exciting and way too much for me to think about right now.

“I thought you loved playing hockey,” I said instead.

“I do. But I’ve been so focused on winning, that playing’s become secondary.”

I smiled as I recalled how he’d looked in my too-tight baseball shirt, his face alight with joy as he went up to bat. “We did win the softball game,” I reminded him.

“I know,” he said, leaning a tiny bit closer as if telling me a secret. “I still love to win.”

I laughed.

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